Legend
by Ancilla
Summary: The saviours of the wizarding world. Two died to kill the dark lord. The third losing her sanity with them. (Longer Summary inside.)


**Legend**

_Summary:_

_She stares out the window. Her eyes are cold, and her gaze is harsh. Her lips are in a thin line. The ever bushy hair hasn't been combed for weeks. She won't eat. And she won't talk. She doesn't acknowledge anything anymore, nor does she care to. She gets very few visitors in there. Nobody wants to see the last remain of the golden trio. It is better she and her two best friends remains a legend. The saviours of the wizarding world. Two died to kill the dark lord. The third losing her sanity with them.  _

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the sheer pleasure of writing, plus some really bad grammar.**

_If heartaches brought fame   
In love's crazy game   
I'd be a legend in my time   
  
If they gave gold statuettes   
For tears and regrets   
I'd be a legend in my time   
  
But they don't give awards   
And there's no praise or fame   
For a heart that's been broken   
over love that's in vain   
  
If loneliness meant world acclaim   
Everyone would know my name   
I'd be a legend in my time   
  
If loneliness meant world acclaim   
Everyone would know my name   
I'd be a legend in my time_

_- Roy Orbison; I'd be a Legend in My Time_

It's just another dark dreary night; the rain pours from heavens and down, as rain usually does, and the only light in the streets is that of the streetlamps. The street is deserted as are the houses around it. There are wrecks of small shops that once were and the litter is everywhere. Most windows are smashed and the glass lays broken on the sidewalks. Though one house isn't empty. One house was still in use. It lies at the end of the street, and to be frank it looked just as abandoned and broken as all the other houses. But if you look up, up to the top floor, there by the only not smashed window, sits a girl, and stares out the window. 

She's a pale girl, as pale as a ghost would one almost say, she's got that unhealthy thin look as if she hasn't eaten for days, and what before was baby cheeks is now merely a lap of skin to cover the bones. Her lips are dried and cracked often and are gathered in a thin line which shows no signs of emotion. Her bushy hair looks uncombed and unwashed and her dark brown eyes are cold and her gaze harsh. She's dressed in a dirty, torn, what used to be a flowery summer dress, which is now but a thing for the waste bin. Her feet are bare, and the nails are long. 

She pays no attention to anyone, or anything, she just looks cause it's impossible not to. 

The room she sits in is almost empty except an old couch, which is covered in dust which falls from the cracking ceiling, and a bookshelf filled with books about everything and nothing at all. In the corner stands a small candle and every now and then the flame flickers from a slight breeze, but the flame still burns. Like her. No matter which blows people fired at her, she still stood strong and gave comfort to those who doubted. She supported her friends through everything and even when they passed away she still lived. But the flame became different. It was no longer a flame that was needed and loved. Nor was it a flame which desired to burn. It just did cause it has to. "We need you!" they had said in their begging ways, and held on to a dying flame. 

And she still burned, though it was but a flicker of once was. And it was different. They didn't need her anymore; they had left her to shine alone. And she does. 

Her voice sounds in a happy tone, though her voice is cracked from not having spoken for weeks. "Harry? Ron? You're home!" She exclaims and leans out to hug them, but where she leans no one is. "I knew you'd do it!" She says confidently to the thin air. "Come into my living room," she welcomes "Mind the step." And with that she crawls over the window and falls, falls down onto the pavement. It bleeds from her ear and her arm lies in a weird position. "I told you to mind the step." She whispered before closing her eyes and welcoming death's presence. 

Hermione Granger had been a shadow of what once was and for her death was a welcome gesture. The heroine had lived a long life compared to the chances she had. Best friends with Harry Potter, and Ronald Weasley, she had for 7 long years been a part of the golden trio, who too often were in life danger. She had through those 7 years, gotten to be a third of one whole, and when her friends had died, she had broken. They had died to save the dark lord, and had left her to gather the pieces. Something she couldn't handle. The wizarding world had grieved both for Harry, Ron and her. After two years of trying to re-establish the strong heroin she once had been, they had given up and left her to her solitude. 

The street is now completely abandoned except for the girl at the end, who finally gets her peace.

_A/N: Constructive critic would be nice, and if anyone would be willing to beta read this, I'd be forever grateful. Mail me at stafinur(at)hotmail.com if you'd be willing to beta, thank you, and mark it Legend: Beta __Reading__. I hope the rating is correct, and I'm sorry this is so short. It was just a gust of inspiration. _


End file.
